Page 219 of American Hellhound
“Far,” he said, because he had no idea what the mileage was.
“We’ll look it up in the encyclopedia when we get home,” Maggie suggested, smoothing a stray lock of hair back behind Ava’s ear. When she looked up, her eyes went past Ghost to a point beyond. “I think that’s him.” And then soft, motherly: “Oh, Ghost.”
He turned to look.
Phillip hadn’t lied: the young man walking toward themwaslittle. Phillip had said he’d been a jockey, and Ghost believed it, seeing his slight, wiry frame, no doubt much stronger than he looked. His jeans had big rips in the knees, and his jacket was faded and dusty at the cuffs. His face was too skinny, like he hadn’t grown into it yet, his nose beaky. He carried a lone rucksack over one shoulder, hand curled around its fraying strap.
His wheat-colored hair was in his eyes, and when he reached to push it back, he revealed the family eyes – that eerie crystal blue – and not a scrap of emotion.
With robotic precision, he walked up to Ghost, squared his battered Docs together, and said, “Ghost, sir?”
“That’s me.” Ghost stuck out a hand; the kid had a firm shake, all business. “I take it you’re Kingston.”
“Just Walsh. Please.”
The silence that descended was awkward, at best. Ghost hadn’t expected this emotionless, self-contained, dutifuladult. Though maybe he should have. Devin Green’s bastards were all unexpected in their own ways.
Maggie said, “Walsh, do you like spaghetti?”
And Ghost knew he was invited to dinner, and that, like always, Maggie would make sure everything was okay.
~*~
Maybe it was her constant forced shopping trips as a little girl, but Maggie wasn’t one of those women who shopped for hours and hours. She went in, got what she wanted, and came back out, no muss, no fuss. So it surprised Ghost when he got home and found that she wasn’t back yet. But he thought he understood.
Kev started school the next day, and she’d taken him to get outfitted.
The sun was setting when her headlights finally cut across the lawn. She and Kev and Aidan came in bearing pizza and a dozen shopping bags.
Maggie put a hand on Kev’s too-thin shoulder and made an expansive gesture toward his baggy jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket – all of it new, and fashionable, and just like what Aidan would wear. They’d had his hair cut too, while they were out, the sides of his head shaved, the pale blond strands long and falling onto his forehead in front. Ghost caught the wink of an earring.
“Doesn’t he look handsome?” she asked Ghost.
Kev chewed his lip, blushed, and looked down at his toes.
Aidan looked at Ghost, expression sayingdon’t mess this up, Dad.
Ghost felt something soft and warm unfold in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”
~*~
Bob Boudreaux had a bad habit of yelling when he was on the phone. He was a big man with a big voice, and sometimes he forgot that.
“You son of a bitch, how you been?” he boomed, and Ghost pulled the phone back from his ear. Across the kitchen table from him, Maggie smiled into her coffee.
“I’m good,” Ghost said, in a regular voice, thank you very much. “Hound tells me if I’m looking for a bodyguard, I ought to talk to you.”
“For you?”
“No. For my old lady and my little girl. Shit’s kinda shaky up here right now.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Bob said. “I think I got just the boy for the job. I’m trying to get him outta town anyway. How do you feel about a real big motherfucker who don’t mind getting his hands dirty? And I meanrealdirty.”
Ghost said, “Tell him to pack a bag.”
~*~
Hosting new transfers for dinner became a routine over the years. Maggie would make something delicious and when the conversation lulled – as it always did among strangers – she would dive right in, polite and inquiring, but never prying. The sort of easy chitchat that never failed to put people at ease.
